


(it might've been) a nightmare

by magnificentbirb



Series: bury the hatchet: sequelae [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood and Violence, M/M, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, Vampire Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: There’s blood on the ceiling.Two nightmares.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: bury the hatchet: sequelae [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715710
Comments: 12
Kudos: 135





	(it might've been) a nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> i keep having Dark thoughts for this au, so...
> 
> i'm sorry?
> 
> *
> 
> title from "everything i wanted" by billie eilish.
> 
> part of the [bury the hatchet (or bury your friend right now)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342072) universe.

**~1~**

There’s blood on the ceiling.

Wooyoung notes it vaguely, as an unimportant detail. It’s a small spattering of droplets, barely large enough to stain. But Wooyoung knows they’re there.

He inhales, and it’s copper-scented. His heart lies leaden in his chest. His face feels wet, warm. He runs his tongue over his fangs, tasting blood.

“San-ah,” he says. It comes out as a croak. There’s no response. “San, do you taste that?” His words make no sense, he knows they don’t, but he keeps speaking. His lungs don’t seem to be working properly, pushing stale air through his vocal chords. He chokes on every syllable. “San, it tastes like sunlight.”

Silence.

Wooyoung turns his head slowly. San lies beside him on his back, staring at the ceiling. His hair looks soft and clean beneath the blood. His lips are slightly parted, dark blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, a graceful curve across pale skin. His pretty eyes are half-lidded, vacant, clouding over even as Wooyoung watches. 

“San-ah,” Wooyoung says again, throat thick. He reaches out, touches a cool cheek, turns San’s beautiful face towards him. San’s head rolls easily his way. Dark eyes never focus, partly obscured by long, blood-flecked lashes. 

There is nothing left of San’s throat.

Horror settles gradually into Wooyoung’s dead heart.

“San,” he says. He lets his thumb dip, tracing over pale parted lips, smearing blood. “No, I… I didn’t mean… _San_.” 

Wooyoung’s hand feels tacky. His fingers start to tremble. He turns onto his side, fully facing San, gathering the cold, limp body beside him carefully into his arms. There is gore on his sheets and gore on his hands and gore on the ceiling, but this is his _San_.

“Don’t leave me.” It comes out breathless, tremulous. “Please don’t leave me, please don’t… don’t go, I can’t… I’m not ready yet, I… can’t you taste it? _San_.”

A sob chokes him, agony. He curls closer, burying his face into the ruin of a neck. Warm copper scent, a taste like sunlight, intoxicating on his tongue, and between his fangs, the slight pull of flesh, but nowhere is there heat, nowhere that familiar, beloved thrum of life, nowhere is there his _San_ — 

Wooyoung jolts awake with a scream caught in his throat.

He’s in his room, and the ceiling ( _no blood, there’s no blood, it’s clean_ ) is painted crimson with light shining through the blinds, reflecting the setting sun.

There is warmth by his side.

For one awful moment, Wooyoung is terrified to turn his head, his vision still clouded by the image of a ruined throat and death-glazed eyes. But he can smell the gentle warmth of skin, hear the thrum of a steady heartbeat, so he forces his head to turn and is rewarded with the beautiful sight of Choi San, alive and asleep and curled on his side facing Wooyoung, dark hair falling gently into his eyes.

Wooyoung just watches him for a few long, silent seconds, hypnotized by the gentle rise and fall of San’s chest. He lets his eyes drift over San, catching on the tiniest details of him, the things Wooyoung’s sleeping mind could never dream up, the proof that _this_ San is real: healing scabs on gently curled knuckles, remnants of a hunt from a few days back; the smudge of makeup beside his right eye, leftover from an evening of acting as bait; a flyaway lock of hair, still mussed from when Wooyoung ran his fingers through San’s hair, kissing him just before they fell asleep.

Wooyoung scoots closer and gathers San into his arms, pressing his lips to San’s forehead. San makes a muzzy, muffled sound of protest at being awoken, but doesn’t fight the embrace, instead curling into Wooyoung’s chest, his fingers hooking into the fabric of Wooyoung’s shirt. He is warm and safe and alive, and Wooyoung feels a prickle just behind his eyes, in the back of his throat, that he desperately fights back.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispers, barely audible, his arms tightening.

“‘m not going anywhere,” San grumbles, still mostly asleep, and Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut. He knows that it’s just a sleep-hazy answer, knows San isn’t actually promising what Wooyoung is asking for, but in the warm glow of sunset, as San’s world comes to a close and Wooyoung’s begins, it’s enough.

*

**~2~**

San lets himself be pressed against the wall of the dingy bathroom. Hands curl like steel traps around his shoulders, chill breath gusts over his neck. San leans his head back, lets his eyes close, forces down a shudder as he hears the vampire chuckle darkly, convinced that he has San willing and at his mercy. 

San slowly raises his hand to the small of his back, curls his fingers around the hilt of the silver dagger he has sheathed there. He waits, breathing shallowly, and just as he feels the brush of fangs against his throat, he unsheathes the blade and shoves it forward and up, puncturing the vampire’s abdomen just below the ribcage and angling the deadly blade as high as he can, until he knows he’s torn into the heart.

The vampire lets out a shriek that San just barely manages to smother with his other hand, spinning them so their positions are reversed and he is the one pinning the dying vampire to the wall, one hand shoved into the vampire’s face, silencing its screams, the other brutally twisting the knife.

It takes a few seconds for the twitching to stop, and then San wrenches the dagger free and steps back, letting the vampire slump to the floor. San is breathing hard, and his heart is racing, but his mind is calm as he pulls out a dark cloth from his coat pocket and swipes it over the silver blade before sliding it safely back into its sheath.

San turns to leave and catches sight of himself in the mirror. He pauses, taking in his mussed hair, his smudged eyeliner, the flecks of vampire blood on his throat, freckled across his collarbone. Absently, he runs his fingers over the blood, smearing the blood into dark streaks, cool and tacky against his skin. The corpse, visible in the mirror behind him, draws his gaze, and as his eyes settle on it, he freezes, his blood running cold.

Hair that was once dark is now silvery blond. An unfamiliar face, once sneering and gaunt, is now devastatingly familiar, handsome and dead-eyed and slack.

San’s breath shudders in his lungs.

“... Wooyoung?” His voice is barely audible, echoing empty against the tile walls. He turns, staggers, his knees buckling. He barely registers hitting the floor, barely notes the way his hand shakes as he reaches out to touch cold skin, soft hair. There is blood beneath his fingernails, etched in the whorls of his skin.

The bathroom door swings open, and San knows it’s Seonghwa before he even turns his head. He looks up just as Seonghwa’s shocked expression morphs into pure agony, and he turns to San with lips curled into a snarl, fangs on full display, eyes bright with betrayal and unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” San says automatically, his voice cracking, his throat thick. “I—I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to, I—I’m _sorry_ —”

“You killed my child,” Seonghwa says, his voice low, somehow more terrifying than any scream of rage.

“No, I—” But there’s nothing more to say, no excuses, just Wooyoung’s cold body between them, and San can’t breathe, can’t think, his limbs shake and his throat swells and his eyes squeeze shut and then Seonghwa is on him as pain sears through his neck, and— 

He wakes.

It takes him a breathless, quiet moment to remember where he is. Wooyoung’s living room is warmly lit and neat. San is alone, the television tuned to a late-night sitcom, volume low. Someone draped a blanket over him.

San inhales shakily, closes his eyes, presses a hand over his mouth. His fingers are still trembling. He can still smell the blood, still see Wooyoung’s dead eyes— 

“San-ah?”

San’s eyes snap open. Wooyoung is standing beside the couch, limned in the cool blue glow of the television. He settles gently onto the couch beside San’s hip, reaching out to brush San’s hair away from his forehead.

“You okay?” Wooyoung’s brow is furrowed, his voice low with concern. “I could hear your heart racing from the other room. Bad dream?”

San stares at him, still trying to control his breath, and then he nods, slowly. Wooyoung’s frown deepens. He leans down, presses a gentle kiss to San’s temple. San reaches for him before he can pull away, fingers catching behind Wooyoung’s neck, and kisses him soundly on the lips. Wooyoung makes a soft, startled noise, but leans into the kiss all the same.

_You killed my child._

San hears the echo of that voice in his mind—Seonghwa, in his dreams, but in reality, an unknown female vampire from years ago, broken and shrieking—and shoves it firmly away.

This family won't break because of him.

He won't allow it.

*

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter, if you like~ ♡
> 
> [main account](https://twitter.com/aintitnifty) | [writing account](https://twitter.com/magnificentbirb)
> 
> also... there's a lot going on in the world right now. please help out if you can - information and resources can be found here: [#BlackLivesMatter](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)


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